CURRENT LOCATION: Tied to a mooring ball near Cayo Pirata, in Ensenada Honda, Culebra, Puerto Rico

18 18.400' N, 065 17.842' W

This Saturday marks one year since we drove away from our apartment with the last bit of our personal possessions packed into the car seat behind us. Our only home since has been a 35-foot sailboat. Compared to most conventional homes, that is not a lot of living space. In fact, consider simply the dimensions of the boat: 11.5' x 35'. If the boat were a rectangle, that would provide a maximum of 400 square feet of living space. As you can see from the diagram below, our boat does not conform to a rectangular shape:



Some rough calculations suggest that the blue space in the diagram above represents about 150 square feet. That means that our total living space is approximately 250 square feet. How do we use that space (from a daily living perspective)? Let's take a closer look.

Much of the space on the boat is dedicated to storage, but those areas in which we live are highlighted on the map below.



The V-Berth is our sleeping area. It is a comfortable space with a large hatch overhead providing good air flow when the wind is blowing. Each berth is six and a half feet long, which easily accommodates my 6'2" frame. You might occasionally find us reclining in this area during daylight hours, especially if we are feeling under the weather, but this space is mostly reserved for getting a good night's sleep.

The Head is not so well designed for someone of my stature. The floor is raised (to allow for drainage) resulting in a maximum clearance of 5'10". The floor space measures about 22" x 22", leaving just enough room to wiggle around the door as it is closed from the inside. This tiny space serves as toilet, shower, and general grooming area. More than anything else, these facilities have caused me the greatest sacrifice relative to our previous living accommodations. No longer can I take long, hot showers in a completely upright position. And, of course, a luxurious bath is completely out of the question. These days, I am forced to rinse quickly with luke-warm water as I practice heretofore unimagined body positioning. Rest assured, it is not a pretty sight.

The Port Settee belongs to me. This is where I sit at the computer to write, surf the web, or watch downloaded reruns of SCRUBS (I love that show). With the breeze blowing through a huge overhead hatch, it is also a comfortable place to take an afternoon nap. When we are underway, my side of the table is folded down and the deflated kayaks are wedged in next to the mast. These two suitcase-sized containers are soft and tall enough to provide a perfect brace for a single all-weather berth (even without deploying the lee cloth). This is where we sleep when we are off-watch on overnight passages. Finally, as noted during the recent visit of guests, this is settee pulls out to form a sleeping area for two. However, we rarely use it in this capacity for ourselves.

The Starboard Settee is Sheryl's living area. Here she will stretch out to read and relax. When we watch a movie together, the computer sits on the table between us as we recline on our respective 'couches.' Sometimes we set up the table on her side (which blocks the 'hallway' leading to the head and the v-berth) in order to eat a meal or play a game.

The Nav Station is Sheryl's office area. Her computer resides in this area, largely because the space beneath the desk is a little too cramped for my long legs. I can sit here for short periods, but long spells at the nav station leave me temporarily crippled.

The Galley is well suited for meal preparation, both at anchor and while underway. There is adequate counter space (although one could always hope for more), and everything one needs to cook a meal is easily reached from a single standing position. The height of the counters and sink are a little more conducive to Sheryl's shorter frame than mine, but I manage to take on occasional galley tasks with only a minimal amount of lower back discomfort. The two major adjustments we have made since leaving our land-based kitchen are the absence of a microwave and a refrigerator. The microwave was the first to go. During our first five-months of living aboard at a marina, we still had refrigeration on the boat (which ran off shore power), but no microwave. It was during this time that we learned to make smaller portions for meals. Leftovers could be refrigerated, but reheating was a bit of a challenge. Now, we manage just fine with neither modern convenience.

The Cockpit is our back porch. It is well shaded and ventilated to provide a good breeze in fair weather. When it rains, though, the space can get a bit soggy. Under mostly sunny skies, we spend a fair amount of time outdoors reclining on the port and starboard seating areas in the cockpit. Two sport-a-seats make this a very comfortable spot and a small table attached to the binnacle is perfect for holding a drink and a snack. We often dine in the cockpit and it is this area where we most frequently entertain guests. The recent addition of a short segment of LED rope lighting (sort of like white Christmas lights), makes this a cozy spot to chat after dark, whenever the mood hits us.

I suppose that a discussion of our living space would not be complete without a brief mention of our transportation. Much like we had a car and bicycles in our land-based life, we now have a dinghy and kayaks to get to and fro. Although not strictly part of our living space, they are an extension of that space and an irreplaceable means of accessing the tiny island home that we call Prudence. The dinghy is tied off behind the big boat (our aquatic driveway), while the inflated kayaks are stored up on deck (our front yard). Between sails, booms, kayaks, paddles, and jerry jugs for diesel and water, there is not a lot of space remaining on deck to be called living space. I will occasionally take a sport-a-seat up to the cabin top forward of the mast, just for a change of pace, but if that amounts to more than a 3' x 3' footprint of 'front porch,' I would be surprised.

Despite this lack of space (or perhaps even because of it), we are quite content and comfortable. In fact, we often discuss whether we would like to have a bigger boat. The result is always a resounding, "No." It is a liberating feeling to be able to live this way. When we do return to land, and that day will someday come, we have learned that we do not need and do not want a 2,000 square foot home. I am certain that we will both be happy with whatever tiny space we can find to call our home. Until then, we will continue to live, laugh, and love within our floating 250 square foot abode.